


Bluelilac's Curse of Bat Excrement and Intimacy

by aph_foreign_relations



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, University AU, be prepared to die of cringe and fluff, im so sorry my fellow hetalians, no sexy times but its heavily implied, witch!alfred, witch!america
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:33:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29595603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aph_foreign_relations/pseuds/aph_foreign_relations
Summary: Prompt: Alfred is a witch, just trying to get his materials for his spells in a modern world, while Arthur is his unfortunate roommate who has no idea what the hell his roommate does. All Arthur knows is that things explode and smells weird, and something is really wrong with Alfred.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur trotted alongside his eccentric roommate, resigned to his fate and cautiously handling Alfred’s package containing an assortment of purple leaves and wooden beads. He wondered why he was assisting Alfred on his biweekly shopping trip when he could be joining Antonio for that Oscar Wilde play. But then he remembered the last time he'd gone to the theatre and returned to their dorm to find Alfred unconscious on the floor, bats swarming the ceiling, and a stain on the carpet that would not come out no matter how hard either man scrubbed.

Forget the carpet stain. The bat droppings had taken an entire month to clean and hundreds of dollars wasted on cleaning products.

When revived and questioned Alfred had been wholly uncooperative in providing a sensible explanation, instead offering a feeble apology and a promise “to be more careful next time”. Not that he'd explained what “next time” would entail nor what gone down the first.

But Arthur had been used to the ambiguous nature of his roommate by that time, in his sophomore year. Because while he and Alfred were close friends any time Arthur would bring up the American’s experiments Alfred would go silent for the rest of the day, effectively shutting down any mention of it and making Arthur so desperately curious that he took any and every opportunity to learn whatever he could. Hence the position he found himself in.

Beside him Alfred skipped along happily, peering into shop windows and babbling on about a new video game he and Kiku were going to play and how awesome it would be if Arthur joined them.

Arthur's response came in the form of a deprecating smile and Alfred laughed, expecting nothing less. “Whatever. You're just scared that I'll beat your ass,” he surmised.

Arthur’s face, if at all possible, grew more disgusted. “Oh, belt up.”

-Time Skip An Hour-

Arthur discarded the box of latex gloves he had been handling on a shelf, walking over to where Alfred was questioning the store manager about special ordering a specific manufacturer’s cyanide.

The Englishmen tapped Alfred on the shoulder to catch his attention.

Suddenly, though, Alfred flinched violently and leapt back from the contact.

Arthur, hurt, crossed his arms and leaned back. “I need to leave soon. I've got an essay to write.”

Alfred nodded absent-mindedly, gingerly rubbing at the spot where contact had been made, “Sure, no prob. It'll be another hour for me so you'd better get going.” He turned to Arthur as though to embrace him but stepped back at the last moment, waving instead.

Nodding stiffly Arthur plucked up the package he'd been tasked with holding, “I'll just leave this on your bed then.”

The Brit departed silently after that, closing the shop door with more force than was necessary.

Given the chance to cool down on his walk back to the campus he reflectived more on Alfred's odd behavior. And it really was very odd. Alfred was an incredibly touchy person. Hugs, claps on the back, and breathing down your neck to see what you're doing. Anything to be as uncomfortably close as possible.

And despite Arthur often protesting such intrusiveness it felt somewhat nice to have someone curious and comfortable enough in his presence to touch in such a familiar way.

Arthur shook his head to dispel those thoughts. Recently, though, Alfred had been avoiding any sort of contact to the point where he would leave for sports practice 15 minutes early to avoid catching the Brit at breakfast where they would usually sit beside one another. When he’d brought it up in a discussion Alfred, tactful as ever, had pretended not to hear and went on a loud, long rant about how his chemistry professor was being an ass.

When Arthur made it back to their dorm he relaxed in a cold shower before throwing a wool vest on and taking his laptop to the library to write his essay. Though his fingers kept pausing above the keys, his mind distracted by his roommate’s recent actions.

Fixing his eyes on the screen Arthur pinched his thigh. This essay was due tomorrow. He couldn’t afford to let his thoughts be led astray.

-Time Skip Like 2 Hours Idk Bro-

Back at the dormroom Arthur turned his key into the lock and stepped into the room. He was greeted by the sight of Alfred drooling over his desk. The desk itself was littered in suspicious looking beakers, flasks, syringes and small bottles sealed with cork. Technically, students were not meant to keep lab equipment in their dorms but in university such rules held no authority and Arthur wasn’t about to rat him out.

Walking nearer and peering over the man’s prone form Arthur admitted, as he often did but with no less reluctance, that Alfred was quite the dashing fellow. Appearance wise. Even with drool leaking from the corner of his mouth and glasses smushed into his nose he was gorgeous.

Arthur tisked. “Git,” though it was uttered with fondness and he let a sheepish hand fall on the man’s honey hair, petting gently. Alfred mumbled something in his sleep and sank into the touch.

Arthur observed silently, watching as the American’s breath picked up slightly before evening out, exhaling into a soothed sigh. It was odd to be standing over a man who was so long in comparison to Arthur himself that, when close enough, he’d strain his neck trying to meet Alfred’s baby blues. But here Alfred was small, slumbering beneath Arthur’s shadow cast by the small lamp on the Briton’s desk. For a man whose personality took up an entire room he was very quiet when asleep. In fact, not in all his time cohabitating had he heard neither a snort nor snore. Which was slightly disheartening given that Arthur had been informed by various bed partners that that was not the case for him.

Arthur let his hand drop and struggled a moment before hefting the larger man up under the knees and shoulders and depositing him on the bed, settling the spectacles on the nightstand and pulling the unmade sheets over Alfred’s body.

In a moment of weakness Arthur leant down and pressed his lips to Alfred’s forehead, resting there for a moment as he let his eyes fall closed. His heart gave a pathetic little flutter in his chest and his skin tingled. Wrong. With a sigh he sat up and stepped away, not trusting his body to not betray him more than it already had.

Did… No. No. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation, not even himself. It’s not as though anything would come of it. 

He cast a painful look at Alfred's slumbering form before tearing his eyes away and entering the bathroom, splashing cold water on his overheated face before picking up his toothbrush.

\- Time Skip A Week - 

“Fuck!” Alfred exclaimed, throwing his glass at the wall where it impacted and broke into shards, juxtaposing the tense atmosphere with its glittering edges.

Arthur jumped, spilling his tea in the process, and turned to glare viciously at the American yanking harshly at his hair.

“Do you mind?” he seethed.

Alfred ignored him and continued to lose his shit in anything but the requested silence.

After another unsuccessful five minutes of Arthur trying to annotate his book to the sound of Alfred’s increasingly vulgar language he slammed the book closed sharply and stood, walking over to Alfred and grasping his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!” Alfred lashed out and smacked Arthur arm away with such force that the Englishman lost his footing and would have tumbled to the floor if not for the chair behind him. Taking a moment to compose himself he glared up at Alfred from beneath his lashes.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Alfred appeared shocked at his own actions, looking lost and terrified. The American looked down at his hands, then at Arthur’s face. Finally he dropped to the floor and began to sob, covering his face and hiding his expression.

Arthur stood quickly, unsure of what to do in situations like this. He put his palms out in a placating gesture (that Alfred interpreted as defensive and only made him cry harder) and knelt down beside the distraught man, not daring to touch but wanting to help.

Oh bloody hell, he couldn’t do this. But he also couldn’t just ignore him. So instead he sat there, offering his presence.

When Alfred had cried himself to hiccups and exhaustion Arthur opened his mouth, hesitated, closed it, thought, and opened it again only to repeat the process a few more times before he settled on, “Would you like a glass of water? A tissue?”

Hiding his face still Alfred nodded, hiccupping so hard Arthur thought he might throw up. The Brit stood, his knees popping from being in an uncomfortable position for so long, and acquired the goods, handing them to Alfred’s reluctant hands.

The American blew his nose and slipped delicately at the water. “Thanks, Art,” he whispered.

There the pair sat, for an hour or so, before Alfred seemed to have come to some sort of decision. They were supine on the carpet, staring at the ceiling, their pinkies almost touching.

“So,” the American began, pausing for another minute before he continued, “I’m a witch.”

Arthur remained silent, filing away any information to process later.

Alfred wrung his hands and his voice picked up, “And I know that makes me sound insane and delusional and childish but I swear to god it’s the truth. I wouldn’t lie to ya, Artie. I promise I wouldn’t. I’ve been studying online in this witchcraft online school thingy - please, don’t ask - and we were practicing the amorous arts in potion brewing and I- well I sorta fucked up. Like, a lot. And now I’m stuck with this stupid spell and I know it’s pissing you off and I’m sorry, Art. Okay? I’m just- I’m sorry.”

Cautiously, Arthur ventured on to say,” Whatever... does potion brewing have to do with touch?”

He could hear Alfred shuffling more, clearly struggling. “Well,” he sighed out a heart wrenchingly sad hum, “I didn’t wanna do it like this, but,” he looked at Arthur with uncharacteristically intense eyes and spoke softly, “I- I kinda really like you. Like a lot.”

Arthur felt his heart jump in his chest and his face go still and pale in shock.

Alfred glanced away, forcing the words out, “And not inna bro kinda way. I mean, like, in a- in a- um, like, not the bro way. Yeah.” 

He continued, “And the whole potion thing? You’re curious about that?”

Arthur nodded.

“Well a few weeks ago- when you went out to see that play? Right- I was working on a Bluelilac - a potion for passion inducement with your lover, though it only works if self administered- and my Romanianribbion beaker tipped and the fuckin’ bats came and distracted me and next thing I know I’m in bed with you fussing over me -thanks for that by the way- and I musta accidently ingested some cuz now whenever you touch me I- I…” he trailed off with a fierce blush. “And I was trying to find some sorta reverse spell but it’s been literal weeks and I can’t find anything…”

Catching on, Arthur too felt color rise in his cheeks. “And this spell… how long does it last for?”

Here Alfred coughed and hesitated, “Uh. Well usually it's for one night's use. For, like, a special night. But since I… haven’t had a special night it’s kinda with me until- I do.”

“And... why haven’t you?” Arthur asked, hardly able to contain himself by this point. It was too much, too fast. Too wonderful to be true.

Alfred eyed him, suspecting that he already knew the answer and was only waiting for a confirmation. “I’ve had my sights set on someone for awhile and, honestly, I can’t imagine doing it with anyone else.”

Arthur smiled openly now and scooted closer, lifting a hand to hover over Alfred’s cheek before blue eyes fluttered closed. Arthur brought his hand around the curve of the American’s jaw, smoothing the hair behind his ear with a finger and feeling Alfred’s breath ghost over the tender skin of his wrist.

“I think I may be able to help.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone requested a sequel, I provided :)

Despite whatever previous thoughts Arthur may have possessed concerning his intrigue with Alfred’s potion business it seemed that as Arthur learned more of Alfred’s private studies his fascination didn’t appear to dissipate. In fact, the more Alfred told him the more the more he desired to know. Luckily, Alfred was all too willing and, whether prompted or not, would motions and exclaim excitedly as he explained the purpose of each ingredient and the specific tools necessary for potion brewing.

Alfred admitted to being surprised at Arthur’s lack of resistance to the ideas of the magical world. The Englishman confessed to drabbling in the mystic arts in his teenage years. He left out the part about the teasing from his classmates that eventually discouraged him from its study. Though he felt very smug knowing that he had been correct, yearning for the chance to somehow shove this knowledge in their faces (without putting Alfred in harm’s way, of course). Fools.

Not one person in their friend group had expressed genuine surprise when the American began initiating hand holding nor when Arthur would slump into the American’s lap at the pub (he would have done that before except the fear of rejection had held him back, even in an inebriated state). The only reactions were of harmless teasing and the occasional kissy face. Obnoxious, certainly, but manageable.

Even now Alfred brushed his long fingers over Arthur’s thighs and sides casually as he scrolled through his social media, the pair sitting with their backs to the wall on Arthur’s bed, Arthur tucked snuggly into Alfred’s side. It was winter and the dorm was chill, even with the heat blasting.

The light scraping of his nails felt wonderful against his skin and the Englishman pressed his cheek to Alfred’s arm before closing his eyes and setting his book aside. He couldn’t remember a thing from the last ten pages. Besides, it was already night and he could see Alfred’s eyes slowly dropping out of the corner of his eye.

Oh, yes. Another new improvement: Alfred had taken to sleeping in Arthur’s bed. Ever since that fateful night following Alfred’s confession they had been experimenting. Testing preferences and limits. Which, in Arthur’s case, were about non existent and in Alfred’s- well, quite a few actually.

Back on the topic of witchcraft, though.

Upon more open observation it was evident that the time commitment for Alfred’s online courses were more extensive than he’s previously been aware. When he’d peaked at the American’s schedule he had been thoroughly shocked:

(A/N: Insert image of busy schedule)

It was no wonder that Arthur had only seen him late at night, after curfew where Alfred would have to stealthily (for him, anyway) avoid the campus security.

It was also interesting that, now that Alfred had given up on hiding any aspect of his magical studies, had allowed all his equipment (chemistry and potion brewing) to come out of the closet and accumulate on his desk. There was no apparent order to it but, after carefully watching, Arthur knew where most things were kept. 

(A/N: Inset image of vaguely messy desk map that I can't bother to insert because coding is complicated)

Arthur sighed out before taking Alfred’s hand (who was already asleep) and giving it a squeeze.

Alfred was very comfortable to lay with. He was warm and smelled wonderful. And it wasn’t just the sort of artificial good-smelling. There was the Old Spice and the cologne and all the hair projects and the creams (yes, he had learned, Alfred was rather obsessive about his appearance). But there was also his natural smell that, when combined with his charming smiles, made Arthur weak at the knees. It was embarrassing how fast and strongly he’s taken to their intimate relationship, truly. Bloody yank.

Alfred mumbled something about needing to finish a draft and Arthur frowned. That, he decided, could wait until tomorrow. The boy was exhausted, looking like a bizarre raccoon with his tired eyes. Arthur was not letting him work himself to death for something as unimportant as an early draft. Absolutely not. Completely unacceptable. Bed time.

This sort of thing was common, though. The pair of them were terrible workaholics but at least Arthur was trying to be better. In fact just that morning he had refrained from aiding another professor in their research. He only had three teachers and he was already helping two of them, so he tried not to feel bad.

But Alfred still jumped at any chance to help. Or to join student-made clubs in need of members. Or, let’s say, impulse enrolling in an amorous potion course that demanded many of his vital sleeping hours. Alfred admitted to such once at 1a.m. in the morning, when he was drooping in his seat like a wilted stem and not watching his mouth as he labored through completing a chemistry lab due that morning.

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy what we're learning, Arthur. Cuz it’s some pretty neat stuff,” he had yawned, Arthur watching him from the bed, “But, I-I mean, I haven’t slept in in months and I feel just about ready to drop.”

Arthur had replied with a knowing hum. It was much the same for him, seeing as he has been reading a playbook. Neither were morning people and preferred to work late rather than get up early. He thought about what Alfred had said, then met his tired eyes and shrugged. “Well, you could consider taking this Sunday off from the shelter?”

At Alfred’s pained look Arthur rolled his eyes and went back to his book, “Only a suggestion, dear. Do as you will.”

The lighting in their dorm was dim and the cheap curtains did little to block out the obnoxious flickering of the lamppost outside their window. The guards were standing in their posts and Arthur could hear Gilbert and Antonio (and someone else) in the room to their right watching a movie and maybe something more. Best not to speculate, you never quite knew. The Englishman plucked Alfred’s phone from his limp fingers and plugged it in, checking the alarm before encouraging the man awake and towards the bathroom.

When they were both settled under the sheets (Arthur in his pajamas and Alfred in his briefs) Alfred took a moment to wrap his arms around Arthur’s waist, tossing a leg over his hip before settling down, his breath evening out.

The Englishmen felt a contented flush color his cheeks and patted Alfred’s hand, letting his eyes fall closed.

“Good night, Alfred.”


End file.
